Dear Diary
by btch sprinkles
Summary: Dean/Castiel: Post-Series. In hell, that was a pain you could touch, a pain that made you bleed and this? It just sort of festers inside of you, slowly eating you from the inside out and it just doesn't… stop. You thought you'd saved me but instead you damned me to this slow, rotting world.


**Climb the stairs into the dark, check my pulse and watch me breathe**  
**And oh dear diary, oh dear diary**

**Broken Anchor, Dear Diary**

**June 7th**

I can't even believe I'm doing this. I feel like such a jackass. Hell, I can barely see the pages up in this attic, and holy hell is it hot up here, but I'll be damned if I find myself scribbling away in this fucking diary, of all things, laying on my bed like some goddamn girl. God, why am I doing this?

Well it's Sammy's fault, I think. That kid was always the source of every bad decision I've ever made, and keeping a diary is probably the most ridiculous decision I have ever made. Ever.

I guess I can blame myself a little, because I didn't lock the damn drawer in the desk when I packed up and left, and Sammy went snooping. I'd forgotten I'd even written that shit, the stupid… stories? Whatever. Whatever you want to call them. It's just, I'd been having dreams of all the times Ash said we'd died and gone to heaven, and fuck man because I started to remember that shit after Heaven got closed up. I had a feeling it would be better to write it down.

I guess Sam just never realized that I had other talents besides ganking demons and gutting witches and ghouls and shit. Is ganking even a word, anyway? Sucks pen and paper don't have spell check because I live by that shit. Damn.

I guess the stream of consciousness writing, as Sam calls it, isn't so bad. I mean, I can't say I'm feeling better but it's better than talking so some damn therapist because it's not like they're going to believe half the shit I have to say. "I'm in love with an Angel and he's gone forever." And they're going to think it's some sort of damn metaphor or something not realizing that one- Angels are sadistic little gremlins and I swear to god I'd rather deal with demons than those bastards. Give me Crowley over Raphael any day. That big-egoed fucker. And two- I wasn't supposed fall in love, you know? That shit wasn't my path. Though go fucking figure that when I finally decided to just give in the thing, angel—whatever—that I gave everything up for refused to give up his grace and stay with me so I can rot here on earth feeling like this.

Which feels like shit, by the way, in case anyone was wondering. It feels like complete and total shit. You know, even in hell, the pain was physical. I mean, it was your soul, but it was a physical pain and well… it sucked. It was torture, but it wasn't this. In hell, that was a pain you could touch, a pain that made you bleed and this? It just sort of festers inside of you, slowly eating you from the inside out and it just doesn't… stop.

So fuck you very much, Castiel. Fuck you very much, because you thought you'd saved me but instead you damned me to this slow rotting world. The slow path, or so says that dude on that show with that blue flying box thingie that Sam won't stop going on about. That hot chick said it to him, the dude in glasses. The slow path. He looked like he wanted to fucking kill himself, too, and that's kind of how I feel.

I mean, it's all well and good to rid the world of monsters, but you know, that shit's slowly ending because every one of the big baddies that made those monsters are now locked away and they might be immortal on earth, but they're not invincible. So what happens when the last one goes? What do I do then? What the hell is the point?

Hell, I even considered just grabbing a bunch of those pills Sammy brought over to help me sleep with some whiskey and just ending that shit. No more angels to pop me back into my body now is there, buddy? Eh? No more of that shit. No more threat of hell because they can't touch me now, those black-eyed bastards.

But where do we go, then? A reaper visited me in a dream the other night and man was she pissed. I thought they hated me before, but now they're fucked because there's nowhere to go. Fuck you very much for that, too, Cas. Fate hates me, Reapers hate me, Hell hates me and I don't even want to know what their dartboards and target practice sheets look like in Heaven because I know for damn sure I'm not their most favorite guy.

And what about you, huh? Why them? Why those winged bastards that kept throwing your ass out? That brown-haired bitch that drilled into your goddamn eye and made you kill your own brothers and nearly kill me? You chose her? I mean, being a human is no goddamn picnic, Cas, but tell me it's better than being up there. Fuck.

You know I'm crying now? I'm probably going to burn this shit anyway since apparently it stopped being a dairy entry and it's become some lame-ass letter to you, you ass-butt, but what the hell. It was a stupid idea in the first place.

Remember the first time we kissed? You thought you were my first dude and you were actually insulted. It was kind of cute. Fitting, too, that we happened to be in heaven and you were just trying to send my ass back to earth. My heaven was little Sammy at that time, but I wonder what it would be now.

I remember your face, too, because I just thought, oh fuck it, and I grabbed your face and showed you what the pizza man was really capable of. And you made that noise in the back of your throat and god damn Cas, I almost lost it right there.

I wish I could tell you the moment I fell in love, but honestly I think it was the moment you seared my arm with your mark and pulled me back to earth. I was just a little slow to realize it. You'd think I would have realized it when you were wailing on me in that alley because every punch I took from you ripped my soul into a thousand pieces, yet here I am, writing you this letter, getting drunk. Guess I forgot to mention I'd downed half a bottle of jack before I became brave enough to write this shit down.

You always said I was kind of a coward though. Bastard.

Where are you? Why did you expect me to do this without you? I put one foot in front of the other when I lost my dad. And when I lost Sammy, though I honestly thought I was just going to implode. But I did it. Then I lost Ellen and Joe, and then Bobby and I just kept going because… well because you're a fucking Angel and you were supposed to be forever.

So again, fuck you very much Cas, because I deserved better. I returned over and over to this shit, empty, unforgiving world because I thought you would be here. You weren't supposed to go. But you did.

**And disregard your battered arms, in a minute they'll find me**  
**And oh dear diary, oh dear diary.**

**Broken Anchor, Dear Diary**


End file.
